A Talent for Trouble (20 page)

“We're going to go home now, and we're not coming back here until you can promise me you're going to behave.”

“I wanna go to ball.”

He blew out a breath. “I'm sure you do, Ming, but I'm afraid that won't be possible now. You hurt Piper's feelings, and Ben's, and you don't deserve a treat.”

Ming's bottom lip jutted out. “Don't like you.”

“I'm sure you don't, at least not at the moment, but I love you, and you'll just have to learn to accept that.”

Grayson rose to his feet, picked Ming up, and with her kicking and screaming through the entire house, made his way to his carriage.

O
n my word, Felicia,” Ruth said, “if you weren't so attached to the Beckett family, I swear I would seriously consider forgoing this ball tonight.”

The thought flashed through Felicia's mind that she almost missed the mother who'd previously opted to give her the cold shoulder and refrain from speaking a single word to her.

That mother was nowhere to be found and hadn't been seen since Felicia had climbed into the carriage at the jail.

The fact that her mother had apparently gone along so readily with Mr. Blackheart's suggestion that they check the jail was clear testimony to the likelihood that Ruth Murdock had come to the conclusion her daughter was headed for a bad end.

“I do hope the pesky rumor mill hasn't gotten wind of your shenanigans yesterday,” Ruth continued as she plopped down into the nearest chair in Felicia's bedroom and waved a hand in front of her face. “Your father and I will have to send you on an extended trip, perhaps even abroad, if word gets out you've been visiting pubs
and
opium dens.”

“The only reason I was in a pub was because I was assisting an elderly gentleman, and I only went into the opium den because I was helping Agatha with a story.” Felicia moved across the room and took a seat in a chair next to her mother. “I've been at loose ends lately because I no longer feel comfortable helping out as much in Reverend Fraser's church, and assisting Agatha has given me a purpose. Who knows, perhaps I'll pursue writing as a career.”

Her mother's hand began waving faster. “You never enjoyed writing. Your teachers bemoaned your lack of interest in it on an alarmingly frequent basis.” Ruth's hand stopped moving before she sent Felicia a glare. “I'm well aware that you were most likely the culprit behind Agatha's sudden desire to investigate opium dens. You've tried to be subtle, but you're clearly interested in Grayson Sumner. From what I've been able to gather through snippets of hushed conversations, he was somehow connected to that disreputable opium business.”

Her mother gave a delicate shudder. “Quite frankly, if I'd had any idea the gentleman possessed such a . . . shady background, I wouldn't have even entertained the thought of using him as a distraction for you.”

“You thought Grayson could distract me from what exactly?”

“Reverend Fraser, of course.” Ruth shook her head. “How could I have possibly known Grayson would have such an abysmal influence on you and cause you to completely discard all sense of propriety? The man is an aristocrat. One would think having such a lofty pedigree would make one averse to dabbling in business that ought not to be dabbled in.”

“Grayson wasn't responsible for me going into that opium den, and . . . I haven't discarded my sense of propriety.”

“He's a blackguard.”

“He most certainly is not.”

“He's put your life in danger by exposing you to those opium people.”

“I wandered into that pub on my own, and that started this whole fiasco. Grayson was behaving rather chivalrously by making certain I was safe. You have no idea the caliber of ruffians who were patronizing that pub, and honestly, after I finished singing, if Grayson hadn't been there to stand up for me, I probably wouldn't be here now to tell the tale.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes. “You never mentioned anything about singing.”

“It was a completely spontaneous occurrence.”

Ruth's eyes narrowed to mere slits. “What did Grayson think of your performance?”

“He told me I was an awful singer and that only my driving abilities rivaled my proficiency in belting out a tune.”

“Did he now?” Ruth muttered before she lifted her chin. “Well, there is no time left to dwell on this matter. Mrs. Sheldon will be here any minute to dress your hair. Please try not to argue with the woman, Felicia. She's the most sought-after stylist in the city, and I would regret losing her services if you insult her.”

“It's not as if I argue with people on a daily basis, and I certainly don't go around insulting them.”

“You've insulted me most grievously over the past few days through your less than seemly behavior, something that puts into question my abilities as a mother. As for arguing, are you really going to argue that point?” She released a dramatic sigh. “You've disagreed with almost everything I've said of late, which was why I was so relieved when you went silent for a few hours today.”

“I was only silent because that mud you insisted I place over my face had dried, and I couldn't open my mouth.”

Ruth eased out of the chair and moved to stand in front of her, reaching out to cup Felicia's chin with her hand. “I must say, I'm very pleased with the results of that mud. Your skin is radiant.”

Given the sheer torture Felicia had been through to achieve
radiant skin, she was glad it had worked. When she'd arrived home from her almost-venture into jail, her mother had demanded she remove her whiskers immediately, as apparently the sight of them had been more than Ruth could handle. Unfortunately, the whiskers had other plans, and no amount of tugging could pry them from Felicia's face.

Her brothers, seemingly curious about the loud ruckus coming from her room, had ambled in, and that's when events took an interesting turn. Strange concoctions were produced, one viler than the next, but nothing worked. Her whiskers would not part company from her skin.

Jeffrey finally proclaimed that he'd always wanted another brother, which had earned him a glare from his mother and a trip around the house to see if anyone could come up with a solution.

Mr. Blackheart had been the one to finally suggest an effective remedy, although he hadn't actually spoken to Felicia, seeing as he was apparently still miffed that she'd given him the slip and wasn't speaking to her.

The stable master was summoned, a nasty-looking and smelly substance had been procured and placed on her face, and thirty minutes later, her whiskers were finally pried away, leaving a stark imprint on her face that resembled nothing less than the beard she'd just shed.

Certain that a restful night of sleep would set her face to rights, Felicia had escaped into her room, her mother's dire predictions ringing in her ears.

Much to her dismay, her mother's predictions had come true, because upon rising and rushing to her mirror, her appearance, if anything, had worsened. She'd let out a howl, which had caused her mother to come running. But much to Felicia's surprise, instead of the dramatics she'd expected, Ruth had let out a single sniff before quickly penning off a note to a Mrs. Brombel, requesting her immediate assistance.

Mrs. Brombel had arrived at the house in a very prompt fashion and immediately began slathering her potions onto Felicia's face, along with the rest of her body, even though it was only her face that needed attention. The lady had completely ignored Felicia's concerns regarding the odd tingling she'd begun to feel, brushing those concerns aside with an airy flick of her wrist.

Unfortunately, the tingling had been the result of an unexpected reaction. For two hours, Felicia had been forced to sit in a tub of cold water in the hopes of soothing the rather large hives that had broken out on unmentionable parts of her body.

After the bath, Mrs. Brombel had rubbed her down with a thick layer of what looked exactly like mud, and she'd been forced to lie perfectly still until the mud dried. Then it had been back into the tub. Once the mud was washed off, most of her hives had disappeared—but only most.

“Ah, there's the door. It must be Mrs. Sheldon,” Ruth exclaimed, causing Felicia to shake herself out of her thoughts and away from the slight itching that what was left of her hives was causing. “Remember, dear, be pleasant and cheerful.”

“I'm always pleasant and, most of the time, cheerful.”

“No you're not, but that's a conversation we'll save for another day. We must have you looking your best for the ball tonight.”

Her mother was still scheming. Exactly what she was scheming, Felicia really couldn't say, but because she'd been distracted of late, she'd let her guard down. She watched as Ruth sailed out of the room without another word, her steps almost jaunty.

A grin teased Felicia's lips.

Her mother wasn't nearly as put out with her as she wanted Felicia to believe, and feeling in a much improved mood over
that, because, honestly, she didn't enjoy her mother's disappointment, Felicia moved over to her vanity table and sat down, waiting for Mrs. Sheldon to come and fix her hair.

Two hours later, she was well coiffed, gowned, wearing the proper amount of jewelry, and ready to tell her mother she no longer wanted to attend the ball.

What could she have been thinking, purchasing this gown?

She dropped her head, her gaze settling on the overabundance of pale skin that apparently couldn't be covered given the skimpy nature of the bodice she'd thought had been perfectly acceptable when she'd tried the gown on in the store. Now, however, well, she'd only taken one fast glance at her refection in the mirror, and what she'd seen there had caused her to begin breathing so rapidly she'd almost fainted.

Because she'd been forced to take deep, heaving breaths in order not to faint, her charms had almost spilled from the low-cut neckline of the gown, and she hadn't been brave enough to look in the mirror again.

She'd apparently been delusional when she'd picked out this scandalous bit of red silk. Even though the color did complement her—something she hadn't been able to ignore when she'd taken her quick glance—she wasn't certain she was brave enough to wear it.

It was a pity she'd given all of her old gowns away. One of those would have come in incredibly handy at the moment.

“Maybe I could just wear one of my new day dresses,” she muttered out loud.

“There's no time for that.”

She spun around and discovered Jeffrey lounging against the doorjamb. She gave him a quick once-over. Jeffrey was impeccably dressed in a black cutaway tailcoat, matching trousers, a
white starched shirt paired with the required stiff collar, white silk waistcoat, and a white tie. His hair was attractively tousled, and all in all, he made a fine sight indeed. “You look
very
handsome this evening.”

Jeffrey smile and pushed away from the door. “You almost sound surprised by that.”

Felicia returned the smile. “Perhaps I am. I guess I've never really noticed just how handsome you are and how nicely you turn yourself out for formal events.”

“You know, you're beginning to concern me with how observant you've been of late.”

She blew out a breath. “I've been ridiculous the past four years, haven't I.”

“Maybe a little, but that's all part of life, isn't it?” He moved closer to her and nodded. “You look lovely.”

“You're just saying that because we're running late. I can't go to the ball dressed in this gown. It's too . . . scandalous.”

“It's not scandalous in the least, Felicia. It's fashionable. You're just not used to dressing in gowns that suit your figure. You truly do look lovely, and if I thought you looked scandalous, as your oldest brother, it would be my job to tell you so.”

“You really think I look all right?”

“More than all right—beautiful. I'll be beating the gentlemen away from you tonight.”

“If you're trying to reassure me, I'm not certain that's the way to go about it.”

Jeffrey laughed and extended his arm to her, guiding her out of the room. They moved down the hallway and began descending the stairs. “Is Mother still annoyed with you?”

“I've recently come to the conclusion she's plotting.”

“I've come to the same conclusion.”

Felicia stopped midstep. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I would have, but I can't figure out exactly what she's
plotting.” He grinned. “I think it has something to do with Grayson.”